


Chance Consequences

by archia



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-22 12:58:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/610085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archia/pseuds/archia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A troup of nomadic dwarves moves into the Shire, and the differences between the two races causes unintended trouble amongst the hobbits. The idealistic mayor Bilbo Baggins works to bring peace between the two populations, and to learn more about their troubles from their imposing leader, Thorin Oakenshield. (An AU set before the start of the quest)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Bilbo Baggins was unusually young for the important job of being mayor, but he was from a respectable family, well-read and well-connected, and he had an earnestness about him that inspired trust. Perry Bolger, a middle-aged hobbit who used to work with Bilbo’s father, assisted him in his duties, and between the two of them Shire was kept peaceful and content.

But recently, that peace had been tested.

It was early evening, and in the tidy office room of Bag End, Bilbo poured over reports of missing animals and crops with weary sighs, holding page after page up to the candlelight to read. The soft golden glow lit up his worried face, and put a glimmer in his blue eyes that flickered as he read. Behind him, Perry stood by the office door, his round face perturbed.

“We know who is doing this, of course,” the elder hobbit said.

Last moon, a large troop of dwarves had settled on the outskirts of Hobbiton to much suspicious rumor. Hobbits were wary of strangers, especially ones with such large axes and swords, as was reported, and so the two groups had left each other well alone. Or so Bilbo had thought.

He dropped the papers to his desk. “Perhaps they don’t know our ways,” he said contemplatively.

Perry sighed. His major complaint about Bilbo’s leadership was always that he didn’t have a healthy aversion to things from outside the Shire. Bilbo tried, but he was just too interested. “Dwarves know what ownership is. The thefts are deliberate.”

Bilbo knew his elder was right. These dwarves were different from the ones in his books, who all buried deep into rock and mountain, carving out cities and mining precious jewels. He’d never heard of nomadic dwarves before, certainly not ones that came this far west from the mountains. “They must be desperate to be reduced to stealing,” Bilbo said. “Dwarves are a proud people.”

“Desperate or not, stealing is a crime in the Shire,” said Perry sternly. “If they want to live within our borders, they must follow our laws.”

Bilbo was afraid of the dwarves. As interesting as they were to read about, and Bilbo had poured over many volumes, he was scared of meeting them in the flesh. They were so different from hobbits; loud, warlike and hungry for gold where hobbits were quiet creatures of simple pleasures. But he had a duty to uphold.

“I’ll visit the dwarves with our complaints,” Bilbo decided, and heard Perry breathe a sigh of relief behind him. “We can take the animals back from them, too. I’m sure they’ll understand why their behaviour is wrong if we explain the effect they’re having on us hobbits.” He turned to look up at his advisor. “Perhaps we could persuade them to move on? The Shire is hardly a place for dwarves to live comfortably.”

Perry looked reassured by his choice. “And I will go with you, Bilbo, and Mr Gent Bunowes too, from the Lockholes.” At Bilbo’s confused expression, he explained himself. “Hobbits have been going to him with their complaints in the hopes that the dwarves could be locked up, you see, so he will have plenty of stories to tell if it comes to that.”

Bilbo was unsure about Gent’s involvement. He didn’t think the dwarves would take a hobbit’s warning seriously, let alone be swayed by it. But he trusted Perry’s judgement. “Very well. Let’s go.”

* * *

The three hobbits set off, travelling down the winding paths of The Hill, over rolling fields to cross the river. At the foot of the border forest there glowed three orange lights in the darkness, smoke and sparks unfurling into the deep blue sky. There was a circle of caravans and tents around each fire, surrounding the solid figures of the dwarves who were singing, cooking over the fire, eating, and drinking mead from wooden cups. 

The dwarves were taller than any hobbit Bilbo knew, and stouter too, with large hands and thick limbs. They wore their hair long and all grew beards, decorated with plaits and hair beads. Bilbo had never seen anything like them before, and Perry had to nudge him so he would stop staring. The dwarves hadn’t heard their approach, and Bilbo was planning to walk right in and announce himself when Gent Bunowes caught sight of the animal pen, guarded by a sleeping dwarf with wild black hair and some sort of protrusion from his forehead.

“My prize goat!” Gent hissed, on catching sight of the white goat grazing peacefully. He shot off towards the pen even as Bilbo’s voice raised in warning, his hairy feet racing silently over the ground, but the sleeping dwarf had already woken. With a roar in a language Bilbo didn’t understand, the dwarf started towards the squeaking hobbit. The light revealed the protrusion to be, implausibly, the head of an axe stuck in his skull.

“Gent!” called out Bilbo, sprinting across the cool grass, true fear rising in his chest as Gent slipped and fell, hitting the ground with a solid thump. 

Before the crazed dwarf could do anything, another dwarf with jet black hair and an odd fur hat leapt from the circle of caravans and waved his arms wildly, shouting in that strange language. He had managed to calm the other by the time Bilbo approached and knelt by Gent’s side.

“They don’t even speak Common!” cried Gent as Bilbo pulled the frightened hobbit to his feet, his own heart beating fast in his chest at coming so close to losing someone he knew. Gent let Bilbo rub his shoulders, his back trembling like he was about to cry. Over his shoulder, Bilbo watched the crazed dwarf take his seat again and instantly fall to sleep, as if he’d never awoken in the first place. 

The dwarf with the hat caught Bilbo’s eye and wandered on over. He circled the two of them, and on catching sight of Gent’s traumatised expression, ducked down to be more on level with him with a cheery grin.

“Actually, we all speak Common, little hobbit. However, my cousin Bifur here had an unfortunate run in with an orc axe.” He mimed chopping into his forehead with a wince. “Head on. It must have messed up how he learns language, because he can only speak Khuzdul now. Don’t try and teach him Common. He just gets angry.”

Perry had caught up with them, staring up at the dwarf in shock. Both dwarves were taller than them, although they weren’t the size of Big People. The dwarf’s strange clothing and jolly face, with the big round ears and black hair everywhere, were so alien to them all that they could do little but gape impolitely up at him.

“It’s a pleasure to meet three fine hobbits from this lovely town of yours,” announced the dwarf suddenly, sweeping off his hat and dipping into a deep bow. “My name is Bofur.”

Still a little shocked, the hobbits bowed cautiously in return. Bilbo spoke for them, raising his chin. “My name is Bilbo Baggins, and I’m the mayor of the Shire.” He gestured to his companions. “This is Perry Bolger, who assists me, and Gent Bunowes, who is here on behalf of those who couldn’t come here themselves.”

Bofur dipped his head at all of him. “Charmed. How can I help you? You hobbits haven’t visited us before, although of course you are very welcome.”

“As we should be. It’s our land, after all,” said Gent grumpily, but Bilbo elbowed him sharply. “Ow!”

“Do you dwarves have a leader?”

Bofur nodded, his eyes flicking off to the side. “Aye, we do.”

Bilbo nodded, confused by the dwarf’s sudden reticence. “I’m here to speak to them.”

Bofur ummed and ahhed, scratching at his forehead. “Perhaps now is not the time.”

“It’s a pressing matter, Mr Bofur,” said Bilbo, in the polite but firm tone he’d learnt from his father. He wasn’t sure if Bofur could see the fear in him, behind the bravado, but the dwarf gave in regardless.

“Right. Well then, follow me, gentlehobbits,” he said, amiably enough, and led the way into the camp. Bilbo cleared his throat nervously and followed, while his stunned companions shadowed him in silence.

* * *

Bofur led them pass many curious dwarves, who luckily were too content to do anything more than stare at them, into the largest circle of caravans around the biggest fire. Bilbo trotted up to Bofur’s side, his head tilted in query.

“How many of you are there?”

“Oh, only around sixty here,” said Bofur conversationally. “We were more, but we split into smaller groups. It makes for easier travelling.”

Resting by the finest and largest caravan in the largest circle was a huge bald dwarf, with a thick brown beard and an axe that was bigger than Bilbo. He glanced at the hobbits with shrewd eyes that glinted in the firelight, and then turned to Bofur. “Are we borrowing hobbits, now, too?”

The hobbits shivered, suddenly aware of how vulnerable they were, but Bofur just laughed like it was hilarious. “Aha! No! Of course not, Dwalin. These fellows want to see Thorin.” Bofur gripped Bilbo by the shoulder and propelled him forward. “This here is the mayor of the Shire, Bilbo Baggins.”

“Hello, how do you do,” Bilbo squeaked, then coughed. “Good evening Mr… Dwalin.”

Dawlin raised his eyebrows at them, then cast a glance up a Bofur, who smiled a winning smile. He shook his head and stepped to the side, eyes crinkled with amusement. “Go on, then,” he said.

“Thank you,” said Bilbo with barely recovered dignity, and he walked up the squeaky wooden steps into the caravan. 

The curtains flapped shut behind them, shutting out the campsite, and the air smelt of cedarwood and beeswax. At the back of the caravan were two armored figures, one very tall and dark-haired, the other older with a long white beard. They were crouching over an old map pinned over a scored and marked table, lit by large yellow candles. There was little furniture, and discounting the weapons and shields there was no decoration on the wood and canvas walls. The wood was worn under his feet. It was the nicest of the caravans, but still poor accommodation.

The dwarves looked up as Bofur announced, “We have little visitors from Hobbiton.”

The white-haired one smiled kindly at them, but the dark-haired one remained expressionless. He had a proud bearing, and icy eyes that buried into Bilbo like fishhooks. Neither of the parties spoke, and Bilbo in his nervousness at the end of that imposing gaze had forgotten all he read of dwarvish custom, so he timidly stepped forward to introduce himself.

“My name is Bilbo Baggins,” he began, “and I’m—”

“The mayor of the Shire,” interrupted the dark-haired dwarf. He had deep, loud voice, even for a dwarf. “We heard.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr Baggins,” said the white-haired dwarf with a little bob. “My name is Balin. This here is our leader, Thorin Oakenshield.”

Perry and Gent gaped like fish at his side. Bilbo swallowed down his apprehension at being in this small enclosure full of strange dwarves and sharp weapons, and directed his gaze at Thorin. “It’s you who I’ve come to see, Mr Oakenshield.”

“I guessed as much,” said Thorin, rolling the papers off his rickety table and stowing them to the side. He was dressed in midnight blue armor with glinting steel scales, and a thick grey fur coat that shielded him from the cold. He seemed too royal and grand to be standing in a caravan, even a large one such as this. “How can I help you, Mr Baggins?”

“I’m here on behalf of my people,” said Bilbo, raising his chin. “For the past month you have been living here peacefully enough, for which we are thankful, but it seems you can’t live off the land. I am happy for you to continue living here -” Gent squeaked in protest, “- but stealing is against the law. My people have found their animals missing, some have reported thefts on crops at the edge of town. Indeed, we recognised many of our animals in your pen outside, including my companion’s prize goat.”

Gent fixed Thorin with a frightened but determined scowl. Bilbo could feel Perry’s proud glance in his direction. He’d been more eloquent than he thought himself capable.

Thorin and Balin exchanged shamed glances. Bilbo could tell they didn’t want to steal, and he guessed it was out of necessity or ignorance of the land, rather than a desire to harm. “The Shire is a land of plenty,” he said, and the dwarves looked to him again. “There is no reason you can’t live here comfortably without taking from others. If you want food, you can hunt, farm, and shop like everyone else.”

It was hard to hold Thorin’s gaze, but Bilbo managed with his head held high.

Thorin dipped his head. “I must apologise on behalf of my people,” he said, and it was clear the words were hard for him to say. “We arrived here desperate and starving, and we are only trying to provide for ourselves.”

“I understand,” said Bilbo, filled with relief. He’d been scared Thorin laughing at him and sending him on his way. The dwarves were certainly strong enough to take from the hobbits without fearing reprise. “But it has been a month, and I must get my people’s animals back. I hope that won’t be any trouble,” he quickly added on.

While Thorin mused broodingly at the tabletop, Balin quickly nodded and glanced around. “Not a problem at all. Ah, Bofur?”

“Hm?” Bofur started from where he’d been resting at the side. “Oh!” he exclaimed, and scuttled off.

“Bofur will round everything up for you, said Balin. “I hope that’s alright.”

“It is.” Bilbo’s returning smile was genuine. “I’m very glad. I must confess, I was afraid you would keep everything and there would be nothing I could do about it. We hobbits aren’t capable of taking things back from you dwarves by force.”

“You don’t need to worry about that” said Thorin firmly. “We dwarves have honour, although we may not look it right now.”

From the finery of their clothes, Bilbo could tell that these dwarves weren’t always wanderers. His curiosity, a Tookish trait he’d never been able to shake off, grew stronger. “I hope your situation improves, Thorin Oakenshield,” he said, with a short bow. “Hopefully our two peoples can stay in contact and avoid things like this in the future.”

“That would be beneficial,” said Thorin, inclining his head in return.

“Have a good evening,” said Bilbo, and now that he was so close to leaving he felt his throat start to swell out of nerviness. He silently gestured for his companions to follow him and they hopped out of the caravan, all shivering in the night air.

“You didn’t let me tell any of my stories,” said Gent huffily, as soon as he’d stopped shaking.

“We didn’t need to antagonise them,” Bilbo explained. “Look!” Bofur had gathered the animals, and was waiting for them at the edge of the campsite. He also had a basket of the stolen vegetables. “We’ve gotten them back,” said Bilbo with a sigh. “Everything’s worked out.”

“You are very optimistic, Bilbo,” said Perry with a deep frown.

“That Thorin person seemed suspicious,” said Gent. “What was he looking at on his maps? Do you think they’d try to invade?”

“Of course not,” said Bilbo. “Dwarves like mountains and gold. They are at our borders out of necessity, not because of anything we have in the Shire.”

“How long will you let them stay?” asked Perry in a hushed voice as they approached Bofur.

“I don’t know,” murmured Bilbo, smiling at Bofur. “Let’s see how it goes.”

* * *

It could have gone better. 

A few days after the terrifying trip to the dwarvish camp, Bilbo was writing at his table when Perry interrupted him by knocking firmly at his front door. 

“Is everything okay?” asked Bilbo, ushering the elder hobbit indoors.

Perry had a small sheaf of paper. “I have more complaints from the people.”

They smoked their pipes on the porch of Bag End as Bilbo read over the complaints. The hobbits who lived near the forest and the dwarvish camp were growing increasingly afraid. The noises of drunkenness, fighting and carousing were threatening to them, and they were only getting louder.

“I shall talk to Thorin this evening,” decided Bilbo, already fretting at yet more trouble landing on his doorstep. He took an agitated suck of his pipe, brows lowered.

“Mr Gent Bunowes is busy today,” Perry began, but Bilbo shook his head.

“It’s fine. I’ll go alone.”

“Alone?” Perry looked doubtful.

“I’ll be fine.” Bilbo tried for a reassuring smile. “They won’t hurt me.” In truth, he wanted to find out more about the dwarves without Perry berating him for his unhobbit-like curiosity. Besides, he’d done all the talking at the last meeting himself anyway.

“You’re a braver fellow than I, Mr Baggins,” said Perry with raised eyebrows. “Pass the tobacco jar.”

* * *

That evening, with the moon high in the sky, Bilbo grabbed his coat and walking stick, and set out on his own.

It was a refreshing stroll down the hill and farmland. He heard the camp before he saw it, certainly louder than last time. This time the largest circle had two fires, glowing in the dark. The smoke furled up into the treetops, over them all, and the ponies champed at the lush grass, their tails swishing.

Bofur saw him first, and rushed out of the camp to greet him joyfully. “Mr Mayor! A fine night to see you again,” he exclaimed. “Come, I’ll introduce you to everyone…”

“That’s very kind,” said Bilbo, pushing away Bofur’s guiding hand at his shoulder. “But I’m not here to socialise.”

“A great pity,” said Bofur, although he still smiled. “I’m guessing you want to see Thorin again?”

His eyes glimmered in a way Bilbo didn’t understand.

“Ye-es,” said Bilbo uncertainly. “Where is he?”

“Off on a solitary walk in the forest, as he is wont to do. There is a lot weighing on his mind.” Bofur tipped his head towards the trees. “Follow me!”

* * *

Bilbo followed Bofur into the forest, down a winding path that Bilbo knew well from when he was a child and went off exploring, much to his father’s disdain (and his mother’s proud delight). It led into the forest for a while, and then wound along parallel to the river. It was where the road met the river that Bilbo and Bofur caught up with Thorin, solemn and alone as with his back to them, walking his slow stride. All they could see were the back of his boots, his coat, and his long dark hair.

“He’ll walk you back, Mr Baggins,” said Bofur, tipping his fingers to the brim of his hat.

“Thank you, Mr Bofur.” Bilbo gave him a little bow. “Have a good evening.”

Thorin heard their exchange, and turned to watch Bilbo walk towards him. He cut a solid, dark figure by the glimmering silver stream and tall thin trees. He bowed his head as Bilbo drew near, oddly graceful for a dwarf.

“Good evening, Mr Baggins,” he said in his low voice, his eyes kinder than they were when they first met.

“Likewise,” said Bilbo, dipping forward nervously, and his throat was acting up again, making his voice sound odd to his own ears. “Thank you for returning the animals without fuss, those days ago. I managed to reunite them all with their owners. It did much to improve your standing in the community.”

“I’m glad of it,” said Thorin. “I don’t want to make an enemy of your people, but like I said, we were desperate.”

“Yes, we understand,” said Bilbo quickly. His face felt hot, and so he glanced over the cool river that shimmered under the trees, hoping his face wasn’t flushing. There was a rustle of fur and Thorin turned to look over the river with him, When Bilbo stole a glance at his sharp face, he saw that the dwarf looked deep in thought.

“You didn’t come all this way to thank me for returning your animals,” said Thorin eventually, his voice quiet to better match Bilbo’s.

“No,” said Bilbo. “I didn’t.”

Thorin’s head tilted towards him, and there was something like hope in his eyes.

“There have been other complaints,” said Bilbo, digging about in his pocket to fetch the sheaf of paper.

Thorin nodded slowly, his brow lowered, and his expression returned to its former grimness. What had he been expecting Bilbo to say?

Bilbo shook those thoughts away and glanced at his note. “Hobbits know little of dwarves and their ways,” he explained. “Those whose hobbit holes are close to your camp are afraid of the loud noises you make, especially the fighting and the clash of weapons. We are simple, peaceful folk, and many hobbits go their whole lives without ever seeing a sword. To hear their sounds every night is frightening, even if it is in jest for you dwarves.”

Thorin’s expression turned stern. “I will not order my people to stop making merry. We have gone through hard times and find happiness where we can. I’m sorry if that offends you.”

“I’m not offended,” said Bilbo quickly. “I understand. All I ask is that, perhaps, you can keep the noise to a minimum? At the very least do the fighting elsewhere, out of earshot.” He stared up into Thorin’s softening gaze, and gestured weakly with his hands. “You can see how it might panic people not used to such noises.”

“Yes.” Thorin nodded agreeably. “I shall inform my people right away.”

He stepped out onto the path and waited for Bilbo to join him. Together they turned from the river and walked back to the camp side by side, Thorin’s heavy coat swishing, Bilbo’s walking stick tapping the soft earth. Thorin’s armor clinked as he walked freely, as if unburdened by all the steel and weaponry that Bilbo couldn’t begin to imagine carrying. He looked fearsome. Even Bilbo, who knew him a little by now, was frightened of him.

Thorin looked at him again and caught Bilbo staring. Bilbo quickly turned away, his face heating up again.  

“For all that you claim hobbits are simple,” said Thorin. “You yourself are quite sharp, Mr Baggins.”

“In what way?” croaked Bilbo in surprise, clutching at his walking stick.

“You don’t leap to conclusions or assume answers before knowing all the facts. It is rare to meet someone from so sheltered a place who realises that the world is a lot bigger and more complicated than he is.” Thorin glanced up at the sky, just visible over the treetops. “Unlike your companions.”

“I collect books and maps, and while that makes me an oddity among my people, it helps me put things into scale,” Bilbo explained, unsure whether to be flattered or insulted. “However I admit that, whilst I’ve read a lot about dwarves, I have never met one before. I have never left the Shire.”

Thoring glanced at him in interest. “Do we live up to your expectations?”

Bilbo worried at his bottom lip, wary of offending this dwarf. “I associated dwarves with mighty halls and underground cities, not camping in farms and forest. I didn’t know what to expect when I heard of your arrival.”

“We weren’t always nomadic people,” said Thorin, and his voice had gone low and somber. “We once lived, as you may expect, deep under a mountain where we mined for gold. Erebor.” His eye met Bilbo’s. “A great city.”

Bilbo frowned. “Did something happen?”

“Yes,” said Thorin simply, and he would speak no more of it, as they had just reached the camp. The light hit them both, and the sounds of the dwarves music and song. A few dwarves near the edges of the camp turned to look at them, their eyes on Bilbo in particular.

It would be prudent to head back to Bag End. He turned to Thorin, who was waiting silently by his side with the firelight gleaming in his eyes. 

“If you want to integrate yourself into the Shire more, you should come to our morning markets,” Bilbo advised. “You can buy provisions and introduce yourselves to the people.” He shifted his shoulders and smiled. “It may help with the peace.”

“If you think it a good idea, I will,” promised Thorin.

“And…” Bilbo waved his hands, “the noise…”

“I shall inform them all right away. Are you alright with walking back by yourself?”

“Yes, I’ll be fine,” Bilbo said with a friendly nod. “Good night, Thorin.”

He bowed, and Thorin bowed back.

“Good night, Bilbo.”

The great dwarf swept off into the camp and started quietening them down to disgruntled complaints. Bilbo smiled and set off across the grass, energised for the walk back home with the knowledge of a job well done. He hoped there’d be no more trouble. 


	2. Chapter 2

Bilbo was up bright and early the next morning, even though his bed had been particularly comfortable after all that walking the evening before. But he had work to do, and his pantry was running low.

After a good breakfast and an hour of necessary correspondence, Bilbo put on proper clothes and his best blue coat, took his coin purse, and left Bag End to visit the markets. The sun shone brightly down on the Hill as Bilbo ambled down at a sedate pace, enjoying the simple beauty of Hobbiton with the breeze at his back, while exchanging good-mornings with his neighbours. It would be a grand day for a long walk across the fields, if he'd had the time.

He'd just bought two rolls of blue cheese to have later with mushrooms when there was a commotion near the edge of the market.

Ten armed dwarves had just strolled in, Thorin at the front, and they all were tremendously out of place with their dark leathery armour and wild long hair. Even Bilbo, who knew them, felt his heart skip a few beats in fright.

"Good gracious," whispered the old cheesemonger fearfully, her eyes round.

Bilbo rushed over to much staring, too anxious to bow even as the dwarves all dipped politely down.

"What is the matter?" asked Thorin, fixing Bilbo with a confused and annoyed glare. His expression grew even darker and his thin mouth turned down in a scowl when he looked around to see himself the subject of various wide-eyed stares.

"What are you doing here like this?" Bilbo asked nervously, feeling his face heat up as Thorin's furious eyes met his again. Bilbo recognised that lost anger, born out of discomfort.

Thorin snapped at Bilbo like Bilbo had deceived him. "You advised me to visit the markets yourself -" he growled, but Bilbo interrupted him.

"But not so armed!" Thorin's eyebrows rose, and Bilbo felt a little braver. "Please, you don't need swords here, nor bows and arrows, and the only axes we have are for chopping firewood."

At his words, the dwarves started looking at each other as if in a whole new light, and Thorin's hand swept down to rest on the hilt of the dagger at his hip, just now realising how their weapons would stand out. They were beautifully crafted, and worn with pride, perhaps a dwarvish sort of formal wear.

"I see," said Thorin solemnly. He unstrapped his dagger and swung down the battleaxe from his back, his companions following suit. Thorin pointed to Bofur and an enormous dwarf who was carrying a large empty sack. "Bofur, Bombur," he ordered, "Take our weapons back to the camp."

Bombur stared longingly at the fine foods of the market, his hands clenching at his bag. "Oh, but Thorin -"

Thorin lowered his chin, and his eyes turned stern.

Bofur nudged the large dwarf hurriedly, and dropped his weapons with a clunk into the sack. "Come on," he said cheerfully, while the other dwarves obediently handed over their numerous axes and swords. "Even unarmed you'd scare the hobbits, being four times the size of them!"

And off the two went, trundling down the hill.

Bilbo escorted the remaining dwarves into the market, pointing out shops he favoured and trying his best to show everyone that the dwarves didn't mean any harm. He could see that Thorin was nervous, in his own way, keeping a careful eye on the way the hobbits reacted to him and his companions. It seemed he wanted to make a good impression, and Bilbo's heart went out to him.

He was about to go back to his shopping, when a stout grey-haired dwarf approached him respectfully, stooping down to be at Bilbo's height. "You must be Mr Bilbo Baggins," he said kindly.

Bilbo smiled in pleasant surprise. "I am!" he exclaimed. "How did you know?"

"Well laddie," the dwarf chuckled, "you introduced yourself with great repetition at our camp last week."

Bilbo's cheeks reddened as he remembered how flustered he'd been, bowing and announcing himself, staring wildly at everything, and trying not to shake too much after Bifur had run at Gent.

"My name is Dori," said the dwarf, and he swept into a neat bow.

"Good morning, Dori," answered Bilbo. "I hope you enjoy the markets!"

"I'm certain I could, but if I could ask a question…" Dori scrounged in his pockets and pulled out a few coins. "Is this accepted here?" he asked earnestly. "We're unsure about currency."

"Oh yes, that should be fine," Bilbo assured him. "We trade often with those from Bree, who use that coin."

"Thank you," said Dori graciously, and he slipped the coins away and glanced around the market with what seemed like trepidation. Bilbo felt for him; he knew what it was like to fear embarrassment. He'd felt it a lot himself when he first took up his post as mayor, near a year ago.

"Would you like me to come with you?" Bilbo asked, but Dori shook his head fondly.

"Oh, thank you my lad, but no need to trouble yourself." He gestured to Bilbo's numerous bags. "You carry along with your shopping."

"Alright, if you're sure," said Bilbo politely.

 Dori gave him an odd smile. "You're a gentle little soul, aren't you?" he remarked suddenly. "I can see why…"

He trailed off.

"You can see why what?" asked Bilbo, blinking hurriedly.

"Oh, never mind, nothing!" said Dori, loudly and unconvincingly. "Thank you for your help, I'll be on my way. I'd wish you a bright and fair day, but it seems that whether I wish it or not, there is no other type of day here in the Shire!"

They bid each other farewell, and Dori wandered off to join another, younger dwarf who was staring in confusion at the lettuce outside the greengrocers. Bilbo was smiling, when he felt a prickle up the back of his neck, and he nearly jumped out his skin when he saw Thorin standing silently at his shoulder.

"Did I startle you?" asked Thorin. Bilbo must have an odd expression on his face, because Thorin was looking at him with great attentiveness.

"Not at all," Bilbo squeaked, his heart in his throat at Thorin leaning so close. "How are you?"

Thorin glanced away to stare moodily over the rolling green hills. "I have been better."

He did indeed look a little uncomfortable.

Are peaceful hobbits and simple markets really so terrifying? Bilbo wanted to ask, but Thorin didn't seem the type that would take teasing well.

"Can I help you, maybe?" Bilbo asked eventually, because Thorin was still waiting by Bilbo like he expected the conversation to continue.

Thorin glanced imperiously down at him. "I am perfectly capable of spending coin, Mr Baggins."

"Okay," said Bilbo, a little wrong-footed. "Well. I'm sorry your day isn't going well."

Thorin glowered at him silently, but didn't move.

Bilbo glanced hurriedly around for anything that might interest the dwarf. "… Is there anything in particular you want to buy?"

"Candles," Thorin answered. "For my caravan."

"Ahah!" Bilbo said cheerfully. He knew just the place. "Follow me, then."

Thorin looked startled for some reason, but he walked by Bilbo's side easily enough. They made their way up the hill, and were soon shadowed by little hobbit children who were in awe of Thorin's cloak. Bilbo laughed as they kept reaching out to touch it, scattering as soon as Thorin turned to scowl at them. Every time he laughed, Thorin gave him a strange look, so Bilbo just bit his tongue and tried not to giggle, although he couldn't stop his grin.

They reached the store without any more incident. Tommo the owner had his wares out on a long table outside, protected from the sun under a tent-roof. He sold candles and soap, simply shaped but very good quality. Usually he napped in a wicker chair in the shade as people browsed, one eye open to keep watch on any sticky young hobbit fingers that came by.

Both eyes snapped open as Thorin approached, and he stared in shock at the dwarf, his mouth dropping open.

"Ahem," said Bilbo by way of announcement, stepping into the shade. "Good morning, Tommo."

"Good morning Mr Baggins!" Tommo answered loudly, leaping to his feet, but he hadn't taken his eyes off Thorin.

"This is Thorin Oakenshield," said Bilbo as Thorin ducked into the tent to take a look at the wares. "He's the leader of the dwarf group that lives near us here in Hobbiton."

Before Thorin could bow, or say anything of good mornings, Tommo's eyebrows shot up in recognition. "You're the fellows that took my mam's cow!"

Thorin's eyes narrowed and he immediately turned defensive. "And gave it back," he said darkly.

Tommo shrunk backwards. "She couldn't make cheese for days!" he continued in a brave, but tremulous, voice. "We lost money, you realise. You can't just go taking folk's animals, Mr Thorin, sir!"

Bilbo didn't dare look, but he could almost feel Thorin's shameful anger radiating like a fire. Abruptly, the dwarf turned foot and marched away from the store without a backward glance, storming down the hill with a terrifying expression on his sharp face that had hobbits rushing out of his path.

The space seemed a lot larger, now that he was out of it.

"Goodness," Tommo whispered after Thorin had passed out of earshot. "They're very big, aren't they?"

"They're more our size than the Big People, at least," Bilbo said, aiming for diplomacy.

Tommo wasn't moved. "I think they're trouble, Mr Baggins, if you don't mind my saying," he said with his chin raised. "I'm not sure why you're encouraging them to come here, with their sharp swords and bad manners…"

Bilbo sighed. "They've had great misfortune, Tommo. I want to help them."

"Bad manners gives rise to bad luck, that's what my mam says," said Tommo, shaking his head in disapproval. "You should tell old Mr Thorin that!"

"I'll be sure to," said Bilbo, even though he had no intention to ever, ever mention it, and he bought half-a-dozen of Tommo 's stoutest, brightest candles.

Thorin was marching out of the market by the time Bilbo caught up to him, huffing and puffing with his arms full of food bags and candles. "Thorin!" he called out, and when Thorin turned, he thrust out the candles. "Here."

Thorin stared at him in shock, and then his gaze dropped to the carefully wrapped package. As Bilbo stood there, red-faced and rumpled, Thorin reached out and reverently took the candles. Their fingers brushed, and Bilbo felt a jolt up his spine. He stared at the ground beneath his feet in shock, having just suppressed a gasp.

"How much were they?" Thorin asked, his voice going quiet like it had in the woods, and Bilbo felt terribly shy all over again.

"Oh, barely anything," said Bilbo, flustered, waving his hand. "You can have them. I know you fellows don't have much money, and I know I have too much. They're just candles, Mr Thorin. Don't worry about the cost."

Thorin, on the contrary, looked very vexed about something as he peered down at the candles. "I will not take this from you for nothing," he said eventually. "Visit us at the camp tonight. You can join us for dinner."

"I would be honoured," said Bilbo shakily, although the prospect of being alone around so many dwarves filled him with alarm.

Thorin didn't smile, but he looked pleased all the same. "Have a good day, Bilbo," he said, and nodded his head towards the market. "I think I've outstayed my welcome."

"You've not outstayed mine," Bilbo responded, with a nervous smile. "I will see you later!"

* * *

Bilbo was unsure of when the dwarves had dinner - when he last walked there, they all seemed to be eating in their own time. The sun was low in the sky when he set off, and everything was cast in dusky pink-purple that slowly turned to dark blue as the stars came out. Bofur was waiting for him by the caravan circles, along with his cousin Bifur. Bilbo eyed the latter dwarf warily as he approached, but they both swept into deep bows.

"Mr Baggins," said Bofur delightedly. "Our honoured guest!"

At his side, Bifur muttered something in that deep tongue that Bilbo guessed to be a greeting.

"How do you do, both of you!" Bilbo replied warmly, bowing in return. The camp had been moved closer to the forest and further from the nearby hobbit holes, although the fires were just as large, and the dwarves were just as loud. Bilbo heard no sounds of fighting, however, and that was good enough for him.

"We are better now that you are here," Bofur laughed. He swept his arms towards his cousin. "Bifur here wants to apologise for frightening your little friend. He'd apologise in person," Bofur's voice dropped discreetly, although his eyes glimmered with mischief, "but I fear he won't get along well with the citizens of Hobbiton."

"I think that's wise," said Bilbo, amused. He turned to Bifur, who stared stonily back. "I shall pass your apology along, Mr Bifur," Bilbo promised, although he wasn't sure if the dwarf understood him. "I'm sure it will be graciously accepted."

Bifur hit his fist to his forearm and grunted.

"Very well," said Bofur with a grin, like that concluded matters. He waved Bilbo over. "To dinner! Come along, Mr Mayor. Standing here waiting for you in the dark, with the warm smell of roast pork in the air, has been torture!"

* * *

Bofur escorted him pass the old caravans into the largest circle, where the air was warm, and the delicious smell of dinner had been coming from a spit over the fire. The dwarves must have hunted wild hogs from deep in the forests further out from the Shire, because they had enormous tusks that weren't seen on the farm animals, and they looked like they could spear a hobbit through.

"Mead?" came a voice, and Bilbo spun around to see Dwalin towering over him with a huge barrel balanced on his shoulder. A wooden cup was shoved into his hands. Bofur had conveniently vanished.

"Um," said Bilbo in a very tiny voice, aware of many amused eyes on him and not sure how to politely refuse.

Dwalin must have taken that for a yes, because he leant forward and twisted on the tap, splashing mead into Bilbo's cup. "Drink up, drink up!" he demanded, as Bilbo tried not to shake. "We don't want you squeaking and nervous like last time."

Bilbo took a nervous gulp. "Lovely," he peeped, and Dwalin was going to pour him even more when Balin appeared out of nowhere, red-nosed and a little unsteady but still very friendly.

"Good evening, Bilbo!" he greeted.

Bilbo gratefully turned to this more agreeable dwarf. "Good evening Balin," he said, trying to bow, but accidently spilling mead out onto the grass.

Balin's eyes twinkled with amusement. He reached out his arm and put it over Bilbo's shoulder. "There's a space saved for you, Mr Bilbo," he said. "Everyone wants to talk to you!"

Bilbo let himself be led away, and he was about to ask Balin about his visit to the market when they were suddenly accosted by two young dwarves, one dark haired with a bright smile, and the other yellow haired with a braided moustache and a mischievous smirk.

"We'll take him off your hands, Balin," cried the dark haired one, slinging his arm over Bilbo's other shoulder. He smelt very strongly of mead, and grinned merrily at Bilbo, with his face far too close for someone who had not yet introduced himself. Bilbo craned his neck back in alarm.

Balin muttered crossly, but the yellow haired one pointed dramatically over his head. "Look Balin, someone is shaking your caravan!"

"What?" murmured Balin, turning away with a confused frown, and that was all the opportunity they needed.

Despite the sip of mead, Bilbo was still nervous, and he squeaked in protest as he was dragged away. His arms flailed, and his cup of mead went flying and spilt all down the yellow haired dwarf's shirt.

"I'm so sorry!" Bilbo cried, hoping it wasn't too great an offense.

"Don't worry," said the dark haired one with a squeeze of Bilbo's shoulder. "That old shirt was due for a wash anyway."

"I am an honourable sort, and I forgive you, Mr Mayor Hobbit," said the yellow haired dwarf right into Bilbo's pointed ear. "My name is Fili."

"And I am Kili!" said the other. He beamed at Bilbo. "You must be Mr Boggins!"

"Baggins!" Bilbo corrected.

"That's what I said, of course," said Kili, although he wasn't really listening.

There was a rough circle of dwarves around the fire. Fili and Kili firmly sat Bilbo down in one of the spaces, and there was laughter from the camp. Bilbo wasn't sure if it was because of their conversation, or because of him, and he was too embarrassed to look around and confirm it one way or the other.

Kili sat down next to him and petted his arm. "Now, you'll be sitting next to me," he announced. "Fili can get our food and more mead."

"No Kili, I think you've had enough mead," said Fili with a smirk. He quirked his eyebrow. "And anyway, I was to sit next to Mr Boggins!"

"Baggins!" corrected Bilbo, a little more indignantly.

Kili looked at Fili, deeply offended. "You can't sit next to Mr Boggins if you don't even know how to say his name properly!" he exclaimed.

Bilbo was going to correct them for the third time when he saw the impish glint in Kili's eyes, and realised that they were making fun.

Kili laughed out loud when he saw Bilbo's scowl. "Oh, get that grumpy look off your face," he snickered. "Look who's here!"

Bilbo heard a familiar rustle of fur, and large strapped boots appeared at Bilbo's side. It was Thorin.

"Bilbo," he said simply, and Bilbo leapt to his feet as Thorin bowed to him.

"Thorin…" he said shakily, and returned the bow graciously. He didn't know what to do with his hands, or how to stand, and Thorin's stare made his throat catch.

The icy eyes flicked away, over Bilbo's head. "Fili, Kili - get me and Mr Baggins food and drink," he ordered, and then lead Bilbo to the best spot in front of the fire, with the best views of the Shire's hills and a comfortable amount of heat at his front. Perhaps it was something to do with Thorin, but the inquisitive eyes stopped watching at Bilbo, at least obviously.

Bilbo sat down gratefully on the soft grass, his eyes on the glowing fire that spiralled sparks up into the sky like low hanging stars. Thorin sat beside him, cross legged, his hands resting on his knees as he stared into the flame. The light flickered over his features, and turned a few hair strands to gold.

"The Shire makes good candles," he said quietly, his eyes sweeping over to Bilbo. "I lit one as the sun set and have been reading easily."

"I'll be sure to tell Tommo next time I see him," said Bilbo. He pulled his knees up to his chest, glad to be a bit away from the others as he was feeling very out of place. He wondered if it was similar to the way the dwarves had felt in the Hobbiton market.

Thorin watched him closely. "How has your day gone?"

"Oh, busy as ever," said Bilbo. He'd been discussing the dwarves with his fellow hobbits, but thought it wise not to mention the conflicted discussion. "I sometimes think I am too young to be mayor, with none of the wisdom that is said to come with age." He laced his fingers together across his shins, and gazed into the fire. "I love the Shire, but it is so much work to lead it."

"It's an honourable position," said Thorin.

"It is," Bilbo agreed, but then frowned. "But my garden has gone long neglected, and I find myself wishing for the time to take long walks and read my books again."

Perhaps he was being selfish. He glanced at Thorin, who was still silently listening.

"Oh well," Bilbo sighed with a smile. "My year is nearly done, and then there'll be the new election. If the people think like I do, the role will be passed to another."

"You want to lose the elections?" Thorin said in surprise.

"I want my fellow hobbits to be content," said Bilbo. "So I suppose I want whatever they vote for."

Thorin looked impressed. "Then you are the finest sort of mayor!"

It was a real compliment, and Bilbo couldn't stop his face heating. He was hoping the fire hid it, when Fili and Kili appeared with plates of prime pork and new cups of mead.

Fili grinned as he passed Bilbo his meal. "Hello! Getting along, are we?"

He said it with a waggle in his eyebrows that Bilbo didn't understand.

"Thorin's told us a lot about you," Kili added helpfully.

"Has he?" asked Bilbo, disbelievingly.

Thorin had gone a little pale.

"Oh, don't worry," Fili assured him, as Bilbo must have looked unsure. "Only good things!"

They grinned widely, and Thorin bristled. "Run along, you two," he growled threateningly, and the young dwarves eyes widened comically. They scarpered, probably towards the mead barrels, and left them in peace.

Thorin settled to watch the fire again, scooping up meat with a distant expression. Bilbo could tell he was thinking hard about something, so he tucked into his own meal, quite content to sit in silence. His mead tasted better without Dwalin staring down at him, he decided. It put a delightful, tingly glow to his stomach.

Or maybe it wasn't the mead. The thought of Thorin talking about him (and only good things!) to the others, cheered him greatly. He was in a much better mood when Balin made his reappearance and sat down near them.

"Hello again!" said Bilbo happily.

"Hello Mr Baggins," said Balin. He exchanged quick glances with Thorin, then turned back to Bilbo. "Me and Thorin have been wanting to ask you; do you have any advice for, well…" Balin struggled for the right phrasing. "… easier integration into the markets?

Bilbo felt a little nervous as they both looked to him like he had all the answers. "Perhaps…" he started nervously, "set up a stall of your own? I've read that dwarves are excellent craftspeople."

"Of weapons and armor," said Thorin, disgruntled. "None of which are any use for hobbits."

Balin shook his head. "What about toys, Thorin?" he suggested. "We have the materials for many of the old favourites that sold well in Dale."

"Hm," murmured Thorin, settling back down again.

Bilbo was a lot more exited. He'd heard wonderful things about dwarvish toys. "That sounds perfect!"

"But who should be the seller?" Balin mused. "It would have to be someone who won't frighten the little children."

"I have a few ideas," Thorin said, and his lips did a rare quirk in amusement.

* * *

When the meal finally finished, the hogs picked to the bone and removed from the spit, the fire was allowed to die down. The flames now emitted a cooler orange light, far reaching and gentle, that invited sleep by its glow.  Indeed, some had retired to bed. The sky above them was velvet black, and carpeted with glimmering stars.

Thorin, Bilbo, and a few of his company circled the fire, staring at the embers in silence as they drank in nature. It would be a fine place for a smoke, but Bilbo had left his pipe at home, and he'd have felt odd being the only one partaking. It wasn't the time for comfort. None of them were smiling. Even cheery Bofur wore an unusually grim expression.

After a long moment of silence, Thorin leaned forward to the fire. His eyes were lit with it. He inhaled slowly, as if pained, then let out a sonorous hum so low and rich that it shook Bilbo's lungs.

Bilbo could do nothing but stare at Thorin sitting so close next to him. The dwarf was shrouded in smoke and darkness, illuminated only by fire, his eyes ablaze as his throat rumbled a slow sequence of notes that resonated through Bilbo and left him shivering.

A few other dwarves in the circle then leant forward, their faces and eyes lit up as they joined their leader, until there was a bone-chilling low tune settling over the otherwise silent camp.

Then Thorin started to sing.

Bilbo didn't understand the words, although they took his breath away, the sounds deep and guttural like they were made to be spoken in cavernous pits, or the yawning abyss of mines that reached greedily into the earth. One by one, the dwarves around the circle joined in song.

It was almost agonizing to hear them.

Bilbo knew that it was a song of mourning, he could see the haunted expressions on every dwarf's face, and the plaintive melody tugged painfully at his own heart. As he listened, the true size of the world opened itself up around their circle, expanding from the Shire outwards to lost grey lands, bottomless oceans, ruined cities, and near endless expanses of empty fields. He suddenly felt very small, and very alone. The comfort of being in the Shire shattered - an illusion. None of them were safe from grief.

Thorin, still singing, raised a heavy hand to Bilbo's shoulder and squeezed it, as if to comfort him. Bilbo had a strong urge to curl into him for safety. He just sighed instead, his eyes wet, and stared into dying fire.

As they had joined, the voices gradually faded out one by one. The dwarvish song died down, and the quiet circle was lost in terrible memory.

* * *

Thorin offered to escort Bilbo back after, when Bilbo had tried to stand, he promptly fell again. Dwarven mead was strong and heady. Bilbo wasn't upset by the turn of events. On the contrary, having Thorin warm and strong by his side as they walked through dark fields under starlight was pleasant indeed after being so shaken by the song.

They were in Hobbiton, walking up the Hill to Bag End, when Thorin broke the silence. "You look grave. Has something upset you?"

Bilbo swallowed, shook his head uselessly. "Your song…"

He couldn't find the words to explain how profoundly he'd been affected. The drink clouding his mind didn't help, and the feeling of being suddenly out of step with the comfortable world of the Shire was hard to explain.

He stared up at Thorin, questioning. "What was it about?"

Thorin's stared into the middle distance. "It is a song of loss and mourning."

"Why do you sing it?" Bilbo didn't understand. "Why sing something so sad?" It had been a happy evening, with good food, drink and companions.

Thorin was silent for a long time, and they passed several hobbit holes as he searched his thoughts. "We were a proud people once," he said finally, his voice bitter. "We lived in a great homeland; but it was taken from us. Our loss is just as profound to us now as it was then." He stared around Hobbiton, the little homes and neat gardens. "You have a good and comfortable home, Bilbo, so you may not understand."

"Understand what?" Bilbo asked.

Thorin looked solemn. "We are not travellers - those people live on the road and are content. No, we are lost." They'd reached Bag End, and stopped outside Bilbo's little gate, the light from the windows shining down on them in welcome. "If you don't have a home, you never forget it. Even if it is painful. Else we would lose our identity and purpose, and our history would too soon pass from living memory."

Bilbo stared up at Thorin's face that was so gracefully regal despite what had happened to him, and found he had no words of comfort. He couldn't know how these people felt. "I'm sorry, Thorin," he said, and exhaled slowly. It wasn't enough.

Thorin reached up and brushed the side of Bilbo's face with a gentleness Bilbo didn't think he was capable of. "Do not be sorry for something you had no part in."

Bilbo gaped up at him. "I…"

He couldn't begin to put words to the tumult of feelings that so furiously clouded his mind at that simple motion of rough fingers over his cheek.

Thorin's hand dropped back to his side. "Good night, Bilbo," he said, dipping his head, and then he turned and started the long walk back home.

Bilbo never appreciated his own bed more than he did that night. He ran his hands over the soft cotton and warm blankets, safe underground in his own home that he'd been born and would most likely die in.

* * *

Bilbo didn't see Thorin again for another week.

Young Fili and Kili, who Bilbo learnt were Thorin's nephews, were chosen to run the dwarven shop. They showed Perry and Bilbo the most wondrous toys - flying birds, intricate puzzles, things that spun and whistled and danced in the breeze from long fine threads - and the two hobbits helped them set up their store bright and early before everyone arrived to buy and sell.

It was at the markets that Bilbo saw Thorin leaning by a tree, very much out of the way, smoking a long pipe and watching his kin merrily entertain the little hobbit children that gathered in awe to see the creations.

He also watched Bilbo.

"I've never seen anything like them before," Bilbo said, after fighting with his nerves and joining Thorin by the tree.

Thorin exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Because Erebor was underground, we could never grow food. Instead we traded with the city of Dale at the foot of the mountain. After trading with us, the toy market in Dale was the wonder of the north."

The hobbit children loved them, dragging their parents to beg for presents, and they were all greatly entertained by Fili and Kili. As Kili made yet another sale, he threw his uncle a triumphant smile.

Bilbo turned to Thorin. "Last week you invited me for dinner," he said, puffing up his chest. "This week I must return the kindness. You and your nephews are most welcome to Bag End for tea at eight."

Thorin looked at him for a long time, then inclined his head. "I accept."

* * *

In his kitchen, Bilbo slaved over cooking the best salmon he could afford at the fishermonger's, when there was a loud banging at the door. Definitely the dwarves, he thought with amusement. He moved the fish off the heat and rushed to his front door.

"Mr Boggins!" cried out Fili and Kili in unison. Bilbo sighed, and smiled. They laughed as they stepped inside, hanging up their cloaks and having a curious look around.

"I like what you've done to the place," said Kili, prodding the curved walls. "It's charming!"

"Thank you," said Bilbo, trying to keep his eyes on both of them at once. "Bag End was built by my father -"

"Do I smell salmon?" Fili interrupted, with a wide smile.

"You do!" Bilbo laughed. He turned to see Thorin at his doorstep, a faint smile on his face.

"Evening."

"Thorin." Bilbo's couldn't hide the fondness in his voice. "Come in!"

Thorin stepped inside and Bilbo rushed around to shut the door for him, feeling very jittery, but excited by his visitors. He took Thorin's coat and carefully hung it up in the hallway. The midnight blue and grey fur stood out sharply against Bilbo's own coats in nature's colours.

"You three are just in time for tea," Bilbo said, dusting off his hands. "Please follow me!"

He left them seated at his dining table with the teapot and his best cups as he rushed to the kitchen to put the finishing touches on their meal. The dwarves had healthy appetites, and enjoyed their three course dinner, with freshly baked apple cake for dessert. Bilbo listened in awe to tales of the world outside the Shire, the world he had only read about and never seen. He also could help but notice how the young dwarves looked up to their uncle. They hung on to his every world, and Kili in particular glowed when Thorin deigned to compliment him.

As Bilbo listened, he thought about how much he wanted to go with them, to see tall pines, snow-capped mountains, and cities teeming with Big People. He wanted to walk with them, down the paths that lead out of the Shire, and see where his feet would take him.

When he went into his kitchen, his arms full of dirty dishes, he could still hear them talking. He looked at the hole his father built, his comforts and cherished memories - and felt again that deep tug of conflict between his two sides.

Bilbo knew that if he was ever foolish enough to go running off with the dwarves on an adventure, he'd regret it terribly for half the time.

But for the rest of it…

It was no use fretting over things that might not ever come to pass, Bilbo told himself angrily, and picked the whistling kettle from the stove to make more tea.

After the young dwarves helped him tidy -

("Oh you mustn't! You are guests!" Bilbo had begged.

Fili had winked at him. "And you'll make your guests happy if you let them help clean up!" he quipped, scrubbing at the plates in the soapy sink with a strong arm and tossing them to Kili to dry.)

\- the two left to go back to the camp, calling out fond farewells and effusive praise for Bilbo's cooking.

Bilbo invited Thorin for an evening smoke on his front porch, a favourite activity of his. They sat side-by-side on the wooden bench that looked out over the Hill, the glowing lights of the hobbit hole windows, and the hills and forests beyond.

Thorin exhaled slowly, and peered at the tobacco jar. "This is good leaf," he said.

"Mm," Bilbo murmured in agreement, sucking at his pipe contentedly. He blew a perfect smoke ring that spiralled through the sky, and sat back to watch it sail towards the forests. "Finest pipe-weed in all four farthings of the Shire."

Thorin puffed a cloud of smoke, his expression darkening. "There are many fine things in the Shire," he agreed. "Although I am sure a large troop of dwarves lingering on the edges of it isn't one of them."

"Well I for one am glad you are here," said Bilbo honestly, before he could think the implications of that sentence through. He soon felt Thorin's stare at his profile, and sucked in more smoke to calm his rattled nerves.

They finish their smoke in silence, and then Bilbo took in the tobacco jar and fetched Thorin's coat.

"Good night Thorin," Bilbo said politely. "I hope you enjoyed dinner."

Thorin stared at him, still but for the breeze rustling his hair and the fur on his coat "I did," he said, and then nothing else. He certainly made no movement to leave.

Bilbo stared up in confusion, but Thorin only stepped closer.

His throat was doing that embarrassed tightening thing again, and he do little but gasp as Thorin cupped a large warm hand beside Bilbo's face, his fingers brushing just under his pointed ear, his thumb on Bilbo's cheek.

"Thorin?" asked Bilbo, his voice weak.

Thorin answered by leaning down and kissing him.

He was astonishingly gentle, just pressing their lips together as if to test their warmth, his hand perhaps gripping a little tighter over Bilbo's jaw, but other than that he withheld his full passion. Their lips parted soundlessly, and Bilbo felt like his breath had been stolen.

 As Thorin's face hovered close, his eyes flickered over Bilbo's face, all Bilbo could do was stand there in silence, his skin hot, his hands sweaty. He felt so overwhelmed that he couldn't say anything.

Thorin seemed to take that as a rejection. He dropped his hand from Bilbo's face like it burned. "I must go," he said coldly, and tore off down towards the gate.

Bilbo blinked. Then his mind caught up. "Wait!"

"I apologise," Thorin was muttering. "I should have realised that my feelings for you would not be -!"

Bilbo had leapt up and kissed him, his arms flung around Thorin's shoulders, his eyes clenched tightly shut, disbelieving his own daring. Thorin responded instantly, wrapping his arms around Bilbo's waist and hoisting him higher so that Bilbo's feet dangled above the ground. He deepened the kiss so quickly, it was all Bilbo could do to keep up.

 Bilbo felt surrounded by him, his hands fisted in the grey fur, strong arms at his back, and that intimate, passionate mouth moving with him. He opened his eyes, and Thorin was staring at him with burning possession.

He pulled away, his mouth already reddened. Thorin's expression hadn't changed one bit - indeed, he tightened his grip on Bilbo as if wary of him escaping.

"Oh goodness!" said Bilbo, pressing a fisted hand to his lips. "How long have you..?" his muffled voice trailed off.

"I have felt fondly towards you from the very beginning," answered Thorin.

"Oh goodness!" Bilbo said again, and he covered his face with his hands. He felt quite ridiculous, being hoisted on his doorstep like a child, but at the same time he didn't want Thorin to let go. His hands threaded hesitantly into the silky fur again, letting it slide luxuriantly against his fingers.

"Is there anyone else?" Thorin asked, but Bilbo answered before his face could turn stern.

"No-one."

"Just me, then." Thorin sounded very pleased at that.

"Just you," Bilbo assured him. He made a mental note to look up dwarven courtship when he could. He wasn't quite sure what he was signing on for with that kiss, and then the assurance of monogamy.

Thorin, having had enough of just looking at Bilbo, leant in for another domineering kiss, but Bilbo wriggled backwards.

"It's bedtime, Thorin!" he argued.

Thorin's eyes went half-lidded at that, and he started to carry Bilbo towards the round green door of Bag End.

Bilbo's body froze in shock as he realised what he said. "No!" he exclaimed, kicking his feet. "Not… that!" Thorin frowned, and let Bilbo down. The ground felt awfully shaky underfoot. "I mean, just for me," Bilbo explained fretfully, taking a few backward steps to the safety of his home. "It is bed time just for me! Goodness, do you dwarves always move that fast?"

"We can go as fast or as slow as you like," Thorin said, walking forward as Bilbo walked backwards.

"Well then!" Bilbo glanced around, and Thorin followed his gaze in confusion, wondering what he was looking at. "Bed time, I think!"

"So you keep saying," said Thorin gruffly.

Bilbo fiddled behind him and opened the front door, hall light spilling out onto Thorin's mystified expression. "I will see you tomorrow, I expect," said Bilbo.

Thorin's face cleared, and he bowed his head. "I look forward to it."

"Um," said Bilbo. "Good night! Thank you!"

He dashed indoors and shut the door behind him, slamming his back to it and panting. He wanted to hit himself. What on earth had he said thank you for? What had he been thanking? Thorin probably thought he was an idiot now.

"Oh my goodness…" Bilbo moaned, scuttling off towards his bedroom. "You idiot, Bilbo Baggins! You shouldn't have done that!" His fingers trailed softly over his lips, and he clenched his eyes shut, his heart beating like he'd been racing. He could still feel where Thorin had kissed him, his lips sensitive, his chin itchy from the rasp of Thorin's beard. Their kiss had been terrifying, in the most wonderful way.

It felt like jumping off a tall bridge into water, Bilbo thought, as he buried into his bedsheets. An exhilarating fall through the air, all the while desperately hoping that the landing wouldn't hurt.


End file.
